Deadfall: Agent 21 by Chris Ryan Page A

swerved to the east.
    They continued to lose height until they were no more than 100 feet from the ground.
    ‘I saw a village along here,’ Raf said. ‘And where there’s a village, chances are there’ll be a . . .’ He paused and squinted. ‘Bingo,’ he said.
    At first, Zak couldn’t see what Raf was referring to. The plane was fifty feet from the ground when he spotted it: something up ahead – a low concrete building set back a few metres from the side of the road.
    ‘Hold on,’ Raf said. ‘This could be bumpy.’
    The Cessna hit the ground ten seconds later, then bounced back up into the air before hitting the earth again. Malcolm was awake now and Zak could sensehim tensing up as the aircraft juddered and rumbled to a halt outside the concrete building.
    There was a tree at the front of the building. Three African men had been sitting underneath it, sheltering from the evening sun. They wore no shoes or tops, their trousers were rolled up above their ankles, and one of them wore a floppy-brimmed hat. Now they were standing, staring at each other in astonishment. Ten metres from their position, between the tree and the building, was a very old petrol pump.
    Raf killed the engine.
    ‘There’s a rifle leaning up against the tree,’ Gabs observed quietly.
    ‘Got it,’ said Raf.
    Two of the men were venturing towards them, their faces creased with astonishment at this new arrival. One of them – the guy with the hat – hung back by the tree.
    ‘Zak, stay with Malcolm. Gabs and I can deal with this.’
    Zak didn’t argue, but he did find his eye lingering on the guy under the tree. He knew Raf and Gabs would have their eye on him, though.
    His two Guardian Angels stepped out of the plane, one from either side, leaving the doors open. Raf put one hand into the back pocket of his jeansand held up a wad of American dollars. That got the men’s attention. Their faces broke out into broad grins and one of them pointed at the petrol pump, then at the Cessna. He understood what they wanted.
    Raf spoke with them for maybe thirty seconds, then he and Gabs returned to the plane.
    ‘We need to move it closer to the pump,’ Raf said. He started the Cessna’s engine and the aircraft trundled off the road towards the pump, where one of the two attendants started filling it with fuel.
    Raf stepped out again and started handing money to the second attendant. All Zak’s attention was on the guy with the hat, however. He had stepped casually up to the tree, and was now slinging the rifle over his neck. Zak felt he knew what the man was thinking: that with a few squeezes of the trigger he could earn himself not only the money Raf had offered, but an entire aircraft.
    ‘Gabs,’ Zak warned.
    ‘I know, sweetie. I’m on it.’
    ‘He’s got a gun,’ Malcolm breathed.
    Gabs bent down slightly and felt underneath her seat. She pulled something out and laid it on her lap.
    ‘So have I,’ she said.
    It was a flare gun, about twice the size of a regular handgun, and half as deadly as the AK-47assault rifle that the man was now brandishing as he shouted at them. His two companions looked over their shoulders and identical expressions crossed their faces – they were torn between selling Raf their petrol and going all in with their mate.
    Neither of them seemed to notice Gabs slip out of the plane, clutching the flare gun out of view behind her back.
    Bang!
The gunman fired a shot into the air. A flock of birds rose up out of the trees and Malcolm started violently. Zak grabbed his arm to reassure him, but Malcolm pulled it away.
    Having not got the reaction he wanted, the gunman sneered at Raf, aiming his rifle at him. But he paid no attention to Gabs. He clearly thought he had nothing to fear from a woman.
    That was his big mistake.
    As Raf held up his hands, Gabs skirted round the little group. The gunman’s eyes flickered towards her as though she was a mild irritation, but he kept his focus – and his gun – on